


Nicknames

by autumnalbee (redherring)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Ficlet, M/M, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1896066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redherring/pseuds/autumnalbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor has a tendency to give Sherlock silly nicknames. Sherlock secretly likes them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Curls"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GingerBruja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerBruja/gifts).



> Gift for q-branchcafe for the Viclock Gift Exchange! A series of 221-format ficlets. :) Their prompt was: “I'd really like to see something where Sherlock is happy to be in Victor's company. Though I'm a fan of angst so that's okay.” They also asked for “Victor having all kinds of silly nicknames for Sherlock.” 
> 
> I sort of took the latter as my main focus, but the former is evident in each of these. And, because I can’t resist a fic full of fluff, there isn’t much angst here. Hope that’s okay! :D

“Do you have your notes from Thursday’s lecture?” Victor asks absentmindedly, flipping through his notebook. There are textbooks and loose sheets of paper scattered across the small table in the library, none of which belong to you.

“No,” you tell him, leaning back in your chair with a huff. “I don’t take notes.”

He looks up from the page he was poring over with a smirk on his face. “Right. Mr. Genius memorizes everything in class.”

“No,” you repeat, a grin creeping up on your lips. “I already know everything in the lectures.”

“Then why do you even go to class?” he asks, raising an eyebrow teasingly.

You feel your cheeks heat up, but scoff and cross your arms. “Because.”

You certainly don’t go to class just to see a specific attractive, black-haired, hazel-eyed student who just happens to think you’re brilliant and amazing. That would be dreadfully tedious of you. And you’re never tedious.

Still, Victor shrugs and continues scanning over his notes. “Fine, Curls, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Curls?” you spit, half annoyed but also half amused.

“Would you prefer Fancy Hair?” He glances at you, traces of his earlier smirk still evident. “Or Cheekbones?”

You sigh and roll your eyes theatrically. “Neither, I suppose.”

But the second he’s back at his notes, you crack a smile.


	2. "Darling"

“Are you sure that’s everything?” he asks as you both stumble up the steps with the last of your boxes. The minute you cross the landing, he drops the box onto the floor and wipes his forehead. You avoid staring at his chest—wet with sweat and clearly visible through his shirt—for too long, although you suppose you’re allowed a glance now and then.  
  
“Yes,” you reply finally. Realizing your box is still in your hands (and that it’s fairly heavy), you deposit it immediately onto the table. Perhaps bringing your entire book collection wasn’t the wisest decision.  
  
You look back up at him, and he smiles. It’s that special smile, the one he only uses when you’ve done something especially remarkable, and you’re not quite sure why he’s using it now, because you’re certain you don’t look especially remarkable, and all you’ve done is haul boxes up two flights of stairs because the lift’s broken and—  
  
And suddenly his arms are around you, and he should smell horrible because of his sweat, and he should pull away soon because of your sweat, but he doesn’t. He holds you close for longer than anyone else has ever held you, and right before he pulls away, he whispers in your ear, “Welcome home, darling.”  
  
Nothing has ever felt more like home.


	3. "Lover Boy"

Heart pounding. Sweat shining. Chests heaving.  
  
You hadn’t thought it would be like that. You’d expected a lot of excess contact, some discomfort, and no real satisfaction. But what had actually transpired was so much more… well, different. There aren’t exact words for it, and the fact that you can’t come up with a term frightens and excites you.  
  
Was it sticky? Yes. Messy? Yes. Worth it?  
  
Incredibly so.  
  
Still, there aren’t words.  
  
Victor turns to look at you. His hair is ridiculously debauched and tickles your forehead as he takes your hand in his. You would complain about his body heat and proximity to you, but you realize you don’t really mind.  
  
Maybe you don’t need a name for it, after all.  
  
“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, petting your hair with his other hand. “You’re always beautiful, but—“  
  
“You look absurd,” you scoff.  
  
Victor rolls his eyes, grinning. “Can’t give me ten minutes without an insult, can you?”  
  
“That was certainly more than ten!” you huff as he laughs loudly. Noticing the wet feeling down there, you mumble something about a flannel and Victor’s uselessness as you stand to get one.  
  
“Hurry back, lover boy,” he smirks, smacking your bum as you go.  
  
You turn to glare at him, but he winks, and you can’t help but smile instead.


	4. "Bee"

One thirty-seven. 

The plane was supposed to land at one-thirty. It is seven minutes late. There are fifteen possible causes for the delay, some of which are less appealing than others. You consider entertaining those reasons, but your mind would be better focused on something else entirely.

One thirty-eight.

The luggage carousel flips on and begins its rotation. Duffels and suitcases and boxes slide down the chute and onto the belt. None of them are familiar. The monitor does not list his flight number. 

One thirty-nine.

The baggage claim area starts to fill. You scan every face as they enter through the gates. He is not there. You are reminded of how much you hate public flights. Not that you need reminding, anyway.

One-forty.

He is far away, but you are certain it is him. He glances around as though he’s looking for something, and you watch him for a moment. He has not changed much in six months. You are immensely grateful.

One forty-one.

He sees you, and his face lights up with that smile of his as he pushes past the crowd. You stand from your chair, something wet in your eyes, and can only take three steps before Victor envelops you.

“I missed you so much, Bee,” he says, and places a kiss on your ear. “So much.”


	5. "Mr. Pretty Flower Man"

The hospital is strangely cold. But maybe that’s just you. Your fist clenches around the bouquet in your hand, the third you’ve bought since the accident. His face always lights up when he sees you’ve brought him something, and his smile makes the ache in your chest feel just a bit better. 

At least for a moment.

This time, however, you can tell he is different when you walk into his room. He gives you a strange smile, and the look in his eyes is not one of recognition. He pulls himself up in his bed and raises an eyebrow.

“So, come here often?”

You freeze. “I—“

“Are those for me?” He smirks. “I’m so lucky, having someone as gorgeous as you bringing me flowers.”

“These—yes.” You take a step forward, your heart beating in your ears, and hand him the flowers, unsure. “Victor, do you—“

His eyes close for a moment as he smells the bouquet. “Mm, they’re beautiful. But definitely not the most beautiful thing in the room.”

You feel your face heat up. “What are—“

“So, Mr. Pretty Flower Man.” Victor sets the flowers aside and grins. “Have any plans for tonight?”

“I—um—“

He puts his hand over yours. “I know just the place. You’ll love it.”

Your eyes flit to Victor’s IV.

Morphine.

You smile.


	6. "Husband"

You lock arms, and it’s all you can do not to look at him. Your mind, usually rapid-firing ideas and deductions left and right, is oddly quiet. Your combined footsteps ring out against the smooth oak floor, and the small group gathered around you are smiling widely and watching your every move.  
  
The room is small, but cascades of white and mint cover most every surface. Arrangements of violets and daisies adorn the arc where Geoff is waiting, and despite your supposed hatred for the sentimental, you feel… warm.  
  
It takes an eternity to reach the end of the aisle. You feel your palms start to sweat halfway there, and you’re worried about so many things—  
  
But, finally, you turn to face each other.  
  
Victor has been crying; his eyes are watery and rimmed with pink. He smiles at you, his lips quivering just slightly. You smile back, and the words being spoken by Gavin fade into the background. Your heart is full to bursting, and although you have never been an exceptionally happy man, there is no creature on the planet more contented than you in this moment.  
  
The two words required of you both are spoken. Victor turns back to you, and _that smile_ is on his face.  
  
“Come here, husband,” he whispers, pulling you in for a kiss.


End file.
